


Headhunted

by ReverseMousetrap



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Bad end, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Jack is a creep, episode 4 divergent, making my fave suffer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 05:06:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18308792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReverseMousetrap/pseuds/ReverseMousetrap
Summary: While the heist of Helios was underway, Vaughn was lost and alone on Pandora.Turns out he was better off that way.





	Headhunted

**Author's Note:**

> I was stuck on a fluff fic and a comedy fic, and people suggested I write a different genre to break the block. So I decided to write an angsty Bad End, using the time-honoured tactic of making your favourite character have a terrible day.
> 
> Soz.

He runs.

“Hey! Get back here, you little bastard!”

Vaughn races across the sand, away from the light and into the unknown. The first bullet flies wide, but he hears the second shot whistle past his ear only inches away. The taste of Kroger's blood is fresh in his mouth, hot and sick and metallic, but he can't stop to spit it out. He feels a warm trail of it at the corner of his mouth. He swallows.

Another bullet sails past, and Vaughn feels the sting as it grazes his shoulder.

“Shit, shit, _shit,”_ he hisses, all the breath he can spare. The sand is soft under his shoes, too soft - every step is like running underwater, and his lungs are on fire even as the cold bites at his face.

There’s an explosion somewhere. He stumbles, falling to his hands and knees. Every muscle screams in protest as he crawls across the ground, desperately willing his body to get back up. But he looks over his shoulder, and his fear finally recedes when he sees the gangsters’ runner taking off in another direction. There's no relief, though, when he realises that Rhys must be on board.

They've decided he's not worth chasing. They've got what they came for. And now his best friend is alone.

 _He's_ alone.

It’s cold. It's dark. There's nothing for miles _._

In the dim light of the moon, he can see a stain spreading from his shoulder, and another one on his side where the wound has reopened, a dark bloom soaking rapidly through the bandage and into his shirt. It takes a moment, but the smell of his own blood hits him harder than the taste of someone else's.

“Oh, God,” he whispers, curling in on himself, too stunned to even cry. He's dizzy, breathing fast. This is it. He's fucked. He shouldn't have run. They'll kill Rhys. He'll die out here.

 _No,_ says the voice, that same cornered animal that made him take on Vallory. _Get up._

Full of self-reproach, he manages to push the top half of his body off the ground. His heart is still pounding, forcing precious blood out of him. He has to fix this, even if all he has is Hyperion's ten-minute first aid induction. If he doesn't, nothing else will matter.

_Focus!_

Vaughn rips his shirt off, not even wasting time with the buttons. His shoulder doesn't look as bad as it feels, thank Christ. Tearing a strip off the ruined white fabric, he ties it over his wounded shoulder and under the arm, pulling it tight. Another piece goes around the base of his chest. The bandage will have to hold a little longer. He’s suddenly aware how pale he is, and he looks away. He fixes his gaze on the stars.

_Breathe in. Two. Three. Four._

_Breathe out. Two. Three. Four._

_Breathe in…_

Finally the rush stops, and all is silent. Hyperion's ten-minute stress management seminar has served him well. After a couple of minutes’ rest, he presses his hand gingerly to his side; it comes away almost dry. Despite himself, despite the situation, he laughs. If he makes it through this, he'll officially be a badass. The thought gets him to his feet.

On Helios, the hum of the life support systems was a constant reassurance, a background heartbeat. Between the firefights and the bolted-together caravan, it hasn't been quiet since he landed on Pandora. Now the silence is deathly. Even the rakk have stopped screeching. He doesn't feel real.

There's no ECHOnet signal to his glasses, and the Atlasio on his arm is little more than an expensive paperweight. Vaughn turns around, looking back at the entrance to Old Haven in the distance. Every other direction has more of the black Pandoran night. It also has fewer Psychos.

He walks away into the unknown.

His wounds burn, but more than that, his heart aches. The realisation that he might never see Rhys again is starting to sink in, spreading like ice through his veins. He can't imagine it, much less accept it. Rhys is a non-negotiable part of his life. Vaughn doesn't know how to exist without him. He's nobody. He could have stayed, could have protected him somehow. The sisters will survive, because they know not to trust. Rhys is in as much danger from within as without.

_Crying won't help Rhys. And it wastes water, idiot._

He clenches his fists, nails digging into his palms. He has to make it through this.

It could be minutes or hours before he comes across an abandoned half-burned bandit shack; with the long nights it's impossible to tell. The building reeks of molten plastic and stale piss, but it has most of a roof, and with the wind whipping up outside, Vaughn will take what he can get. He huddles against a wall, shivering with his arms wrapped around his knees, and waits for morning.

Through a hole in the ceiling, he sees the bright trail of a rocket streaking into the sky. A rubber band stretches, then snaps. A part of him is gone.

He drifts in and out of consciousness as the hours stretch on, haunted by memories that blur into dreams, too tired to move but too cold to sleep - at least until the fierce Pandoran sun begins to rise. He hears the voices of his friends, the mocking laughter of bandits and the whistle of moonshots. He sees Rhys come back to him, but when he reaches out to hold him, he's gone.

It's only when he realises that the drone of Buzzards is real that his eyes open fully.

His body is stiff as he cautiously stretches his legs, but his wounds don't protest as much as he feared. Creeping over to a broken window, Vaughn peers out at the brightening sky. There's three of them circling. Just as his stomach drops - he can't fight bandits, unarmed and injured - he sees that they're painted in Hyperion colours.

For a moment he wants to run outside, shouting and waving his arms, but then he freezes. Hyperion still wants him dead, and for all he knows the attempted heist has made it worse. But Hyperion can be reasoned with. And they have food and water and a way off the planet…

They have Rhys.

Before he can decide what to do, a pair of guards in full armour rappel to the ground. They stroll over, swinging their guns lazily, like they know it's going to be an easy job. Vaughn steps back from the window, unsure.

_Stay alive._

The first guard reaches the door. Without even trying the handle, he fires both barrels of his shotgun into the broken lock. The door swings open, the charred wood splitting in three places, and the pair of them saunter in.

“Hey, little guy,” the first guard says, like he's talking to a dog. “Nice place you got here.”

Vaughn’s mouth is too dry to answer. He stares back, standing up as tall as he can without looking like a threat.

“Turn around. Hands behind your back.” The second guard holds up a pair of thick flexi-cuffs.

“I'll come quietly,” Vaughn rasps.

“Not your call, shorty,” she says, and he can imagine a sadistic smirk under her helmet. “President’s orders.”

He blinks, shaking his head. “President…?”

But they don't bother answering, advancing on him in slow steps, and though he can't see their faces he thinks of hungry wolves closing in. Instinctively, he backs away with his hands up, stumbling as he hits a wall. The guards take that as their cue.

The man swings the butt of his gun into Vaughn's stomach. All the air leaves him a second before he really feels the impact, and as he doubles over the last thing he feels is a weight slamming into the back of his skull.

\---

When he comes to, he's being hauled out of a shuttle with his hands tied. He tries to catch himself on unsteady legs; the motion alerts the guards, and he’s thrown face-first against the hull of the docking bay.

“Wait,” he whispers, struggling with the little strength he has left. “Stop -”

“Shut it.”

There's a warning spark at the back of his neck, and the impassive face of a guard helmet leans into view.

“You really don't get to call the shots here, buddy.” She sounds bored.

“Please just tell me what's going on,” Vaughn begs.

She shrugs. “Hell if I know. Our job was to get you back to Helios. New guy was very specific on that point.”

Helios. He feels the blood drain from his face. Running is no longer an option. Before he can ask any more questions, he's yanked away from the wall and marched into the station proper. Two new guards take him by the arms, dragging him through the Hub of Heroism, a few of his former co-workers averting their eyes while others stare openly at his battered body. He decides to watch the floor.

_Keep your head down. Just play along._

It’s not until they reach the elevator at the heart of the room that he figures out where they’re taking him, and suddenly his mind is racing. He knows the plan was for Rhys to go to Jack’s office, but it was supposed to be a short mission. Get in and get out. There’s no reason for anyone to still be here, much less anyone who would have known where to look for him. He shivers, uneasy.

The guards don’t let go of him on the ride up, but they relax their hold, looking over him curiously.

“Don’t I know you?” says one.

“Probably not,” mumbles Vaughn. He’s calming down enough that terror is making way for annoyance.

“Well, you must be important. Orders came right from the top.”

“Important enough for a new shirt, I hope.”

The other guard snorts. They hustle him out of the capsule as soon as the doors open, in a hurry to get to the office at the end of the corridor. Vaughn still doesn’t know what’s going to happen to him, but he’s beginning to feel better about his chances of being alive at the end of it.

When the doors open, Vaughn is overwhelmed by the sheer scale of the room. Unlike Rhys, he never took the guided tour. There’s a line of soldiers and GUN Loaders crowded around Jack’s desk, but they part a moment later to reveal the towering yellow throne from the propaganda videos - and sprawled on the seat is Rhys, lounging like he’s been there all his life.

“Rhys?”

Rhys’ look of smug contentment turns to shock as their eyes meet, and he stands up jerkily -

“Vaughn!”

But as he rounds the table, stumbling slightly, he slips back into his calm, self-assured manner and strides up to Vaughn with his hands on his hips.

“Get this man some water, already,” he barks at the nearest armoured figure. “And one of those nice hot face towels! You know the ones.” He winks at Vaughn before he can say anything, showing him to a much smaller seat in front of the desk. He sits. Rhys hops up to sit on the table an arm's length away, his toes skimming the floor.

“What...what happened here?” Vaughn asks at last. His hands are still tied, and he fidgets in what he hopes is a conspicuous enough manner. “Where’s -”

“All in good time, bro.”

The guard comes back with a glass and a curly straw. Vaughn looks up at him as if to ask what the hell kind of operation they’re running. But Rhys waves him on impatiently, and water is water; it hits his parched throat like a sweet, cool miracle. His eyes close and he savours the few seconds before the glass is empty, feeling the life flow back into to his body.

God, he's hungry. He hopes things start making sense before he passes out.

His friend claps his hands loudly. “Alright, everyone, clear out. I’ve gotta spend a little quality time with my buddy.”

“But sir -”

 _“Now,”_ Rhys growls.

They practically flee at the sound of his voice. Even Vaughn shrinks into his seat. Soon it's just the two of them in Handsome Jack's old office, watched by statues.

“Good to have you back,” Rhys says, calm once again. “I missed you. Well done on the escape, by the way.”

“Uh...thanks.” Vaughn clears his throat, shifting his weight. “While we're on the subject, mind letting me out?”

“Soon. I'll send for some bolt cutters. Those flexi-cuffs are a bitch. But first, how about I fill you in on the juicy details, hm?” Springing to his feet, Rhys practically dances around the office. “Like me being company president! Yeah, high five!”

Vaughn raises an eyebrow.

“Ah, right. My bad.” He completes the high five with his other hand. “But you're happy for me. I can tell.”

_Be careful. Something’s not right._

“Rhys, you came up here for the Gortys piece,” Vaughn says slowly. “Where’s the rest of the team?”

“Gone off to open the Vault for me. Don't worry, I'm keeping tabs on all of them.” He flips up his palm display to show a cluster of dots on a map. “I just had a few more things to do up here first…like find you.”

He pats Vaughn affectionately on the cheek. Vaughn watches him, wary.

“I’m not gonna lie, it wasn't a completely altruistic move. I need your help with something.”

“I…” Vaughn tests the strength of his bonds one more time. He's not in a strong bargaining position. “Okay. Shoot.”

Rhys switches off the hologram and turns to the massive window, stretching both arms and rolling his head from side to side.

“You ever have a really annoying voice in your head, kiddo?”

As Rhys looks over his shoulder with a dark smile, Vaughn feels a thick, crawling horror spread through his bloodstream. He should have known the second he was dragged in.

“You…”

“See, Rhysie isn't as much of a team player as I'd hoped.” Jack flexes the fingers of both hands, examining them. “He needs guidance. But he just keeps on fighting me. And that's where you come in, sunshine.”

Vaughn can only watch as Jack crosses the floor in long strides, aggressively straddling him before slipping both arms around his neck in a mock embrace.

_Make it stop make it stop -_

“Don't - don't touch me,” he snaps, but he's shaking.

“Sshhh, baby. It's okay. He's here too.” Jack plays with the makeshift bandage on his shoulder, pressing his fingers against the wound, making Vaughn wince in pain. “Even lost control of him for a bit when he saw you.”

“Rhys?” He feels himself breaking out in a sweat. “Can you hear me -”

Metal fingers glide along his jaw and down to his throat. Jack’s grip tightens as his lips curl into a deadly smile; the initial shock turns to dread as Vaughn watches the dangerous expression take over his best friend's face.

“But now he'll have a reason to behave.”

The hand closes on his throat. His instinct is to scream, but nothing comes out, heartbeat thundering in his skull as he fights to take another breath. He tries to twist out of Jack's grip, but he can't move more than an inch.

“Oh, Rhysie doesn't like this at all,” Jack muses. “He's begging me to stop. You should hear him.”

Vaughn’s body is starting to unconsciously fight back - _air air air_ \- twitching and seizing as his mouth tries to form words. It seems to please Jack, and he relaxes his grip ever so slightly with a satisfied sigh. It's enough for Vaughn to take a small, laboured breath, falling still.

“I’m gonna enjoy having you around, sweetheart.” Jack brushes Vaughn's hair aside to kiss him gently on the forehead, and he's too weak to do more than turn his head aside, disgust slithering in his guts. He closes his eyes for a moment, concentrating on getting the oxygen back into his body as Jack finally lifts himself off his lap.

“You…why are you...”

“The kid’s as stubborn as a bullymong, but with you here, I’ve got my leverage,” says Jack. “Don’t worry. I’ll get you patched up, give you your old job back - come to think of it, we've got a few new vacancies in accounts. And you'll have the run of the station. I’m not gonna keep you chained up in a metal bikini. Although, body like yours, not a bad idea…”

Vaughn can feel Jack’s eyes roaming over his bare skin. He lifts his feet onto the seat, curling up as much as he can. “You’re fucked up,” he mumbles.

“Hey, I’m not a monster. I’ll let you boys play together...under my supervision.” Jack licks his lips, something like hunger in his eyes. “But just so you know, if you try to escape? I’ll let the two of you argue over whose fingers get cut off.”

He presses a button on the desk, and a nervous voice responds.

“Mister Rhys, sir?”

“Bolt cutters, towels, and clothes in size midget,” snaps Jack. “Sixty seconds or less.” Then he turns his attention back to Vaughn, who looks back at him with his jaw set.

“Hiding, Jack? I didn’t think that was your style.”

_What the hell are you doing? He’ll kill you. He’ll make Rhys watch._

But Jack just smiles. “I’m waiting for a better ride. Got R&D working on it as we speak. If you’re good, you can keep Rhysie when I’m done with him.”

Someone buzzes at the intercom and Jack lets her in using the interface on Rhys’ cybernetic arm. She keeps her head down as she hurriedly drops off a box, then backs out as if she’s too nervous to turn around. Jack picks up the heavy, mediaeval-looking pair of bolt cutters and wields them experimentally.

“Let’s hope this is the last time we have to see these, hmm?” His grin is sinister, out of place on Rhys’ softer features. “C’mon, I’ve prepared your contract. Just needs a signature.”

He walks out of sight, and Vaughn freezes as he waits to feel the blades biting into his flesh - but a moment later his hands are free, falling limply to his sides. He waits for the voice to tell him what to do, but he hears nothing. Things were so much simpler when he was the only one in danger.

Jack takes one of his wrists, inspecting the red marks left behind. Then he leans in close. “I kinda like you, Vaughn,” he says quietly. “Don’t make me regret it.”


End file.
